


The Bridge

by fluffharpy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Threesome, m/m/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 10:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18259148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffharpy/pseuds/fluffharpy
Summary: Natasha wasn’t sure how she ended up between James and Steve the first time.What she did know was that she liked how she fit there.





	The Bridge

Natasha wasn’t sure how she ended up between James and Steve the first time.What she did know was that she liked how she fit there. When Steve cupped her cheek to tip her face up and James’ fingers crept under her shirt, cold metal tentative against her skin, something clicked. She hadn’t felt like she was part of something in so long, she couldn’t remember the last time she fit anywhere. Even in Red Room, she had been a tool to effect a glorious new Russia—no one had imagined she’d have a place in the world they expected her to help create. But here she was between two men who might be as broken as she was, and it felt like home.

The first time was a mess. Steve had barely any experience. James was a mass of hangups. None of them could really believe it was happening, even when one of them took her from behind and each thrust pushed her further down the other’s cock.

Even so, it was  _ so _ good.

That night, Natasha slept tucked between the two of them, James’ chin on her forehead, Steve’s arm thrown across both of them while he buried his nose in her hair. It was uncomfortable: too warm, cramped, Natasha’s arm twisted at an odd angle under her body and Steve’s breath huffing regularly on the back of her neck. She lay awake for a while, so close that she couldn’t smell anything but the two of them, and when she finally fell asleep it was deep and easy.

The next morning, they made her pancakes. The two of them moved in their small kitchen naturally as two hands. Steve touched James’ back as he reached around him to get to the fridge. James laughed softly as he nudged Steve out of the way, taking over skillet duty to save the bacon from getting burned.

“Wait,” Natasha said in a voice warm with skepticism and humor, “you two aren’t together?”

“No.” Steve’s brows bunched up. He wasn’t offended, but confused she’d assumed they were.

James licked syrup from his lips and shrugged. “Just friends.”

Then the two of them shared a look and some silent communication passed between them, Steve’s frown easing and James’ gaze dropping.

James rubbed the back of his neck.

“But we’re together now, aren’t we?” Steve said, meaning the three of them. Natasha could almost physically feel the way he included her when he said we.

“I don’t know,” James said. “I know I don’t want to stop now. Not if you two are okay seeing where this thing goes.”

After breakfast Steve kissed her on the couch, his fingers tangling in James’ hair as James ate her out enthusiastically.

It got better from there.

Two weeks later over Vietnamese takeout, Natasha admitted she wanted both of them inside her at once. “Anal,” she clarified around her chopsticks when Steve gave her a blank look. “I want you in my ass while he’s in my vagina. Or the other way around. I’m not all that picky, Rogers.”

Steve almost choked on a peanut. His prissiness was endearing, especially considering that the night before she’d been riding his face.

On the other side of the table, James folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. His posture was comfortable, knees spread wide, the line of his shoulders loose. Natasha couldn’t tell looking at him if his expression meant he hadn’t thought about it before and he was now, or if he had but hadn’t expected her to bring it up. Either way, he was picturing it.

Natasha offered a sly smile about the same time as Steve got his breathing under control. “You really gonna tell me you’re not interested?”

“I didn’t say that.” Steve huffed and rubbed his throat. He watched them both, eyes half hooded and lashes impossibly long. His cheeks were still red.

“Well,” James said. “Sounds like a plan.”

It wasn’t quite a plan yet, but it was an idea. That was the beginning of a plan. The negotiations that followed fleshed it out into something respectable. None of them were the best communicators, really. Natasha came the closest, but often she was going through the motions, understanding in an academic way honed through training and practice—when she was cornered with questions about what she was comfortable with, what her boundaries were, she found herself halting. Still that left her with a leg up on either of her boys and their Depression era upbringing and Irish Catholic repression.

Somehow that conversation, by turns awkward and abruptly exciting, only confirmed for Natasha that she wanted this. That they wanted it too touched her in ways she wasn’t used to.

Two days and a lot of lube later, Natasha was straddling James’ hips, her pussy lips stretched around his erection while she waited for Steve to take the plunge. So to speak. She was already sweating, shivering in anticipation. Steve was behind her, kneeling between James spread legs, all of their bodies closer than Natasha had somehow imagined. She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t expected the way she could feel Steve’s fingers pressing against James’ cock as he stretched her. She hadn’t thought about how very thin the flesh separating them would be.

The sensation was delicious, and it pushed her out of control somehow. She had to relax. She had to trust Steve. She had to let this happen.

Steve took his time. Hard to say it was all down to nerves. Natasha had enough experience with Steve in bed by this point to know just how much he did and didn’t know. She’d also learned just how intent he was on pleasing his partners. She already knew him well enough to know he was a bit of a tease, too. In his way. It wasn’t until Natasha was struggling to hold still, soft, semi-involuntary sounds of need in her throat, and James was huffing with similar strain that Steve finally came into her. The sense of affection and comfort palpable.

His arm wrapped around her chest and he spoke into her ear, “I’ve got you.”

James’ eyes were fixed over Natasha’s shoulder, seeing what she couldn’t. She thought they were staring at each other, and it was as though an electrical current passed through her. It was almost better than when they started moving.

Almost.

But that was the moment etched in her memory.

Natasha couldn’t say for sure, but it seemed to something changed between them then—the relationship they’d been experimenting with and carefully nurturing suddenly exploded into vitality. They’d been close before, but suddenly they couldn’t get enough of each other.

They fucked in the shower, and in the kitchen. James hit his head on the coffee table when Natasha tried rimming him—then laughed at himself apologetically when she pulled away in surprise. “I was enjoying that.”

“I guess,” Steve said. His callused finger circled her clitoris, and she could feel the amusement in his touch.

Natasha teased Steve on the couch, rubbing against him through his jeans until he climaxed.

“What?” Natasha asked when he swore softly under his breath. “You didn’t like it?”

He gazed at her for a long moment, face flushed, before scooping her up and dumping her unceremoniously in James’ lap.

“I don’t think she’s done yet,” he said over Natasha’s stifled yelp then stalked off to get cleaned up.

James was already hard, his fly open while he’d been watching Steve and Natasha.

That wasn’t all they did, of course. They watched TV. James and Steve both had a lot of catching up to do. They ate popcorn and drank beer while Natasha tried to explain the plot of the X-Files. They had dinners together, often. Natasha didn’t cook. On nights when the boys didn’t make something for her, they got sushi or tapas. If that fell through, they stood together in line at the hotdog stand on the corner. At James’ insistence, they spent a day at the boardwalk. James and Steve both seemed in on that joke, but they also won her a giant blue stuffed bear, so she forgave them their secrets. She took them both out to the ballet later, and they found things to appreciate in  _ The Firebird. _

And when Natasha was riding James reverse, Steve pulled out of her mouth and leaned down to bury his face where the two of their bodies met, his tongue finding her clit with the same enthusiasm he licked her juices away from the root of the Winter Soldier’s cock.

Natasha came like a bottle rocket, like she was burning up and scattering ashes. Like she might light the bed on fire.

Afterward, her boys kissed slow and open mouthed. It was the first time.

There were discussions to have. At first, they only initiated when it was all three of them together. The arrangement was unspoken for days before they said it outright. It was the three of them together, and at first, that was important. It was important that they recognize it wasn’t Natasha-and-Steve or Natasha-and-James. But as the hesitancy to explore each other slowly fell away between Steve and James, that rule started to seem less necessary. It was still the three of them, even when it was just two of them. Even when one of them had a mission or a debriefing or a bowling tournament, or whatever they did when they just needed a day alone.

Natasha was proud of all of them when they said it aloud.

She was also proud of James when he said, “I want to be in the middle.” His arms were crossed on the card table, a bowl of pretzels at his elbow and a losing flush between them. He didn’t meet their eyes at first, more tense than he’d been with either of them in over a month.

“I’m not trying to take anything away from you,” he surprised Natasha by addressing her when he did look up, his clear blue eyes earnest.

“Of course not,” Natasha said. “No, it’s… it’s great. You should try it.”

She laughed.

“Honestly, the two of you were starting to exhaust me.”

It was up to Steve though, in the end. The look he gave James was raw in a way Natasha had come to recognize.

What was he gonna do? Say no?

“It’s all you, Buck,” Steve said. “All you.”

James braced himself over Natasha. His arms were solid on either side of her body, one metal and the other muscle, barely softer than the first. His expression was distant, focused inward. His jaw jutted down, lips parted, breathing steadily.

Natasha touched his cheek, meeting his eyes. “Hey,” she said. “We’re both here with you. It’s okay.”

He turned toward her hand, kissed her palm. “I know,” he said.

“Just let me know when you’re ready.” Steve pressed his cheek against James’ shoulder, one hand slipping down to caress Natasha’s legs, spread butterfly beneath both of them. Comforting her too. That was like him.

James inhaled slowly, deep, and his eyes focused on Natasha.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry—maybe—maybe this was a bad idea. I feel like…”

“Like you’re going to vibrate out of your skin?” Natasha finished for him, understanding. Sometimes, after what they’d been through, it was hard just to be in your body. Easier to dissociate, to let whatever was going to happen happen while the part of you that was you floated far away. Natasha had been there before, and she knew James went there sometimes.

She brushed the hair away from his face.

Steve met Natasha’s eyes over James’ shoulder, searching her face. “It’s okay,” he said. “Whatever you want, it’s okay.”

“I want this,” James said and he smiled a thin smile. “Just… give me a minute.”

“Take as much time as you need.”

Natasha nodded. “We’ll take this slow.”

They did. They gave him time. And when he was ready, they fit together. It wasn’t the last time they had to pause, let James catch up, refocus, then they picked up again. There was less laughing than in most of their encounters, more encouragement, but in the end James’ face pulled into a grimace of pleasure that was beautiful to see. They were both beautiful.

That night, James slept in between Steve and Natasha, his arm and leg thrown over her while his back nested against Steve’s chest. Natasha’s fingers drew circles on his chest until she fell asleep too.

Two days later, Natasha watched James go down on Steve, his cheeks hollow as he sucked Captain America’s dick with more spirit than skill. Dark hair fell across his face and Steve’s lap, and Steve’s eyes rolled up in his head, his fingers gripping the arms of his chair so hard they threaten to snap at any moment.

It took four months to to reach this point, where they—Steve and James, Natasha excluding herself from the calculus—could do this, for them to unpack that they’d wanted to do this, and seeing it was like watching the sunset through a window and feeling the warmth of it on your face.

Natasha lay in bed, sheets bunched around her body and her hand between her thighs, basking in the glow until Steve couldn’t hold out any more.

“Buck—” he choked before he went off, because Natasha had told him to give a girl warning.

And James let Steve’s cock slip from his mouth, half turning away as Steve came on his face, catching in James’ stubble.

Natasha bit her lip and nested deeper in bed, her own orgasm taking her by surprise. The rush of heat, flush in her face, and the elastic snap of pleasure.

“Jesus,” Steve said, wiping his thumb across James’ cheek.

James groaned, resting his head against his best friend’s knee.

For a moment, Natasha stayed where she was, wrapped up in dirty sheets and watched them. Then she let out a long held sigh. “I’ll be in the shower,” she said. “You two decide who gets it after me.”

By the time she was back from the shower, they’d made the bed fresh and clean.

Later, Natasha let the boys know she needed a day or two to herself. They didn’t protest. It had been a while, and they were both used to Natasha running off for a little space when things got too stifling for her. “You’re great,” she’d joked with them early on, “but not every single day.”

“I’ll let you know if it’ll be longer than that,” she told them this time.

“Say hi to Clint if you make it out that way,” Steve said. It was a good guess, but not what Natasha had planned. Still she agreed.

James took her arm and pulled her in for a light kiss on the forehead.

On her own, Natasha stopped in at a bookstore and picked up some poetry. She didn’t read often, not for fun. Mission briefs, research, current events. Didn’t have time usually, and when she did she was more likely to pick through magazines or watch TV. Things that didn’t feel like work. When she did read for pleasure, she liked to be able to devote herself to it entirely. Now, she figured she’d have a little more free time coming her way.

She stopped in for some coffee and sat by the window, sipped her Americano and watched the people walk by between poems. When her coffee was done, Natasha put the book in her purse and left.

She bought some lipstick, a berry mauve with a creamy texture. She tried on a new pair of boots and looked at utility knives.

Then she went went home. Her home, her apartment, not Steve and James’. When they spent time together, it was always there, not here. This was hers. Just hers.

Here, she made pelmeni and she curled up on her sofa and she put away her lipstick and she watched half a season of Criminal Minds. She took a long bath. She put clean sheets on her bed and she went to sleep.

It wasn’t so hard, being alone. Turned out, it wasn’t the kind of thing you lost the knack for that easily.

Good to know she could go back to it if she had to.

The next day she took a long walk by the river. It was late in the year with a chill in the air, but the sky was clear grey and as long as she wore a scarf it wasn’t too cold. The breeze off the water cleared her head.

That night, Natasha came in late—Steve and James’ place, not her own—quiet so she didn’t wake either of them. They were sleeping face to face, tangled together like newlyweds. Seeing them like that, her heart swelled.

She joined them in silence, behind James’ back, and thought about what she’d say in the morning.

“You’re what?” Steve said.

“She’s leaving,” James said. Steve was surprised; he wasn’t. “Goddamnit, Natasha…”

“I’m not  _ leaving _ ,” Natasha said. “We’re friends. We’re still friends, but this was never going to last forever.”

“You realize that doesn’t make any sense.” Not to Steve. That was okay.

“You don’t have to do this.” James might understand it a little. Maybe more than a little. Sometimes he did with things like this, things they had in common.

“I know I don’t have to.” She kept her voice rational, because she was. Because she knew this was for the best. It was simple logic: the answer with the fewest variables was probably the right one.

James sighed.

Steve’s jaw tightened, shifted to one side. After a brief pause, he said, “So you want to stop?”

“No,” Natasha said. “It’s not about what I want.”

“Then what is it about? Nat… Are you jealous? Scared? What is it?”

“She’s not jealous,” James answered half the question for her. He was looking at Steve, not her, nodding along with the words. “To be jealous she’d have to think she was entitled to something in the first place. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“No,” Natasha said. “You’re both overcomplicating this.”

But the anger went out of Steve. He tipped his head to the side and he let out a breath that was just shy of a curse.

“Natasha,” James said, now meeting her eyes.

“So explain it to me. You owe us that much at least. If you want to go, you can go, but at least tell us why.”

“Because.” She’d stayed up half the night thinking of how she’d tell them she was stepping back. She had the words for it then. She didn’t know where they all went now. She hugged herself, caught between the two of them. “Because we’ve been doing this for a while now, and I’ve watched the two of you grow so much. You’ve done things you weren’t comfortable with and it’s… it’s been amazing. I’m so happy to have been able to see it—you have no idea.”

She’d seen Steve become comfortable with sex, seen him take initiative and try new things. She’d watched him enjoy it. And she’d seen James learning to enjoy his body again. She’d seen  both of them realize that their relationship could be even more than it already was.

Natasha would treasure having played a role.

“But you don’t need me anymore. You’ve come so far, and… I don’t want to be in the way.”

It really was as simple as that.

Steve started to say something in response but stopped. He stopped, and he shook his head, and instead he reached out with one hand and he touched the back of her wrist. His fingers were light, wordlessly asking permission, giving her space to pull away.

She turned her hand so their fingers threaded together palm to palm.

“Natasha,” he said, earnest in that way only Steve fucking Rogers could be earnest. “What do you want?”

“I told you.”

“No, you didn’t. You told us what you didn’t want.” Steve squeezed her hand encouragingly.

“Not the same thing.” That was when James came up behind her, his arms circling her loosely, careful. The boys knew that she liked being held, but hated feeling restrained. Nothing put her in a work headspace quicker than being tied down.

“I don’t want—” Natasha started again and stopped when she heard herself.

“We’ll worry about what you don’t want later,” James said reasonably.

Steve said again, “What do you  _ want _ ?”

The tension went out of Natasha bit by bit, leaving her deflated. She leaned back into James’ chest. Steve kissed her hand.

“You don’t have to know now. When do you know and you’re ready to tell us, we’ll be here.”

“I want…” There were words behind her teeth when James said that. Answers, maybe. Things she couldn’t quite say. Say that she wanted to fit, that she wanted a place, that she wanted  _ something _ even if she didn’t quite have the words for it. It was a feeling.

Emotions. It was so much easier with sex, just sex. She hadn’t had problems telling them when she wanted to try something in bed, because it was bodies and bodies she understood. Fucking wasn’t that different from fighting or dancing. Sometimes she slipped out of her body. Good trick for torture. Bad, sometimes, for other things, but it was always her body and her body was always a tool that she knew how to use. Sometimes it was a tool that didn’t hurt people, and she liked that.

When she didn’t have the vocabulary for what she she really wanted, for the bigger picture of the three of them, she fell back on sex.

“I want you to fuck me, both of you,” Natasha said. “One then the other, again and again. I want you to take me until I’m sore and exhausted, and maybe for a few minutes… I don’t have to think about anything else.”

That wasn’t what they meant. It didn’t matter. James and Steve shared a look, communication passing between them. Neither of them called her on it.

“That’s what I want.”

Steve’s shoulder hitched in a shrug.

“We can do that.”

Then James slipped his right hand into her panties and Natasha nearly went up on tiptoe. He didn’t hesitate going straight to the spot, parting her labia just enough press two fingers to her clitoris—one on either side, so as he drew circles around her clitoris, the callused pads of his finger tips grazed her again and again. The stimulation was direct, and the only mercy he showed was in sliding his finger in and out of her periodically for lubrication.

It was just enough to keep the contact bearable. The rough touch sent zings through her thighs and belly, making her muscles twitch involuntarily.

Steve held her hands and her eyes while James fingered her. He drew her arms out in front of her and he kissed the back of her hand like a gentleman, and he kept her from gripping James’ wrists like a drowning victim.

James nuzzled the back of her neck. His lips were far softer than his fingers, and the metal left arm that stayed looped loosely around her chest.

She figured at first this was just to warm her up, get things started, and once she was wet and panting, he’d let go, he’d turn her around, maybe sit her down on the kitchen counter or the breakfast table, maybe carry her back to the bedroom. She figured he’d let up when she got too hot.

“James…” she said, husky, warning him. But he was taking her very high, very fast.

Steve squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Nat. We’ve got this.”

Her orgasm, when it hit, was all nerves and a sudden prickling sweat. It was only the first. James was taking her pants off before the aftermath had even died down. The brush of her own panties against her sensitive clitoris was almost too much to bear

The next one was bent over the back of the couch. Bucky nudged her into place and pushed into her carefully. It was a smooth entrance. Natasha was wet. Of course she was wet. How could she not be? After he was in her from behind, he nudged her ankle and leaned in to whisper in her ear, prompting her to cross her ankles.

She heard him swallow hard as the position brought her tight around him and filled her.

James fucked her like that. Deep and tight, hands gripping her hips while his fingers teased her camisole up her waist. He didn’t touch her clit—thankfully. That was too overstimulated to touch directly. But her pussy was another story altogether. There she was  _ alive. _ Every drive of his hips wound her up further, drawing the sensations deeper.

That second orgasm rolled up from her toes, less acute but more intense than the one that came before it, and it left Natasha breathless.

“Can a guy get a turn around here?” Steve smirked.

“Hold your horses,” James said. “You’ll have your turn. Just have to get her cleaned up first.”

The third orgasm was on the floor, arched back while James lavished attention on her labia with his tongue, more an aftershock than an earthquake. Natasha laughed and pressed her hand to her chest. Beneath her hand, her heart pounded steadily.

She laughed again when he scooped her up and carried her to bed.

Steve was waiting for her. And oh, was he ready: hard, his cock dark and glossy with the lube he’d used as he stroked himself erect; the muscles in sharp relief around his hips and thighs, the cut line of his obliques and his ass.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he said, “Ready for a workout?”

He pulled her onto his lap by the knees, big hands on her thighs, thumb pressed into the crease where her leg met her hip.

The thing about how James had taken her again, and again, was that Natasha was tired, but she wasn’t really  _ tired. _ She hadn’t done much. Strictly speaking. She was flushed and relaxed and energized all at once, and her pussy had a delicious ache that didn’t stop her from sinking down on him and swiveling her hips. It was like dancing on him, and Natasha had always liked dancing.

Steve vacillated between gentle encouragement and almost military directness, and at his urging Natasha rode him hard. Until her knees trembled and her thighs burned, and she was sore from friction

She had to work for her fourth orgasm, and when it hit her, it was deep and muted, as satisfying because of the work that went into it as for the experience itself.

Underneath her, Steve grimaced with strain. He didn’t cum.

Natasha didn’t know why he held back, either, not until he rolled them over.

“Not tapping out yet are you, Romanoff?” Steve asked.

Natasha didn’t blink looking up at him.. “Do I look done yet?”

Then planted her shoulders in the mattress, lifting her hips so she had to arch her back off the bed to meet him as he took her again. Jesus—when had he learned to do this? But Natasha knew the answer to that, didn’t she. And as he shrugged her legs over his shoulders, kissing the inside of her calf, he showed her just how much he’d learned during their time together.

In this position, she couldn’t really get leverage to move herself, leaving her at Steve’s control, but the muscles in her core engaged reflexively, looking for purchase and keeping her wound tight as a garrote wire. If she asked him, he’d stop. He’d let her take control back. But without words he asked her to trust him, and all she could do was let him—was trust him to hold her up and make it worth the vulnerability.

Natasha twisted her hands in the sheets and, for all that she was normally near silent, she moaned. Her fifth orgasm all but broke her, flushing her whole body from toe to cheek. She fell to pieces and fell back to the mattress, and as he lowered himself over her, her arms wound around his neck to hold him there.

Later, but not much later, Natasha lay in bed with both of them, between both of them. After uncounted moments of silence she spoke again. She didn’t look anyone in the eye, but just then she was tired and sore and satisfied in a way that made it easier to open up.

It was a position she’d be taught to take advantage of in others. Now it was a trick she turned back on herself.

"There's this feeling I get sometimes,” she told them. “All the time, if I think about it... like there's something other people have that I'm missing. Like a hand or an eye. Maybe I lost it young, or maybe I just never had it in the first place... something that helps them connect with other people. Sometimes I'll feel like they're reaching out, and I'm supposed to reach back, and I want to. I'll try. Might as well try to have a tail.”

Neither of them interrupted. This wasn’t something they felt, not something she shared. James had an identity before he’d become a weapon, he’d been human once and even if they’d tried to take it away, he had it.

Natasha hadn’t had an identity before she became a Black Widow. Not really. There were barely memories before the training.

"I used to think about it a lot, when I first got back in the world.” One of them stroked her hair as she spoke. She didn’t even know who. “I don't anymore. I just... you know, that's how some things are. You don't weep over it. You don't... you don't waste your time wanting what you can't have. You just keep going.

"It's fine. I like what I have.”

The other one kissed her temple.

"Then I was with you two, and suddenly it wasn't like I was missing anything at all. Not like that thing was there, but it just wasn't missing. I was just whole. Just how I was. It clicked. And I had that connection.” Her voice was so soft. She didn’t even want to hear it herself. If she whispered it, maybe it didn’t count.

“I _ want _ that,” she said. “I want you. Both of you."

When they finally crawled out of bed again for a late breakfast, Natasha made them biscuits.

 

FIN


End file.
